


Well, That's a Mood

by HotCocoaMocha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Jokes, Gen, Ravenclaw, Riddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 05:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17380325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotCocoaMocha/pseuds/HotCocoaMocha
Summary: "...I'm a little concerned by how quickly he was able to answer that."





	Well, That's a Mood

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write this when I was looking up riddles suitable for getting into the Ravenclaw common room and I was met with...such monstrosities...
> 
> Then I came across the particular one I used here and my friend was looking at me funny when I quickly answered and got it technically correct or reasonable.
> 
> Enjoy...?

Really, the method of unlocking the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room is ridiculous. If one cannot answer a riddle correctly, they would have to wait for someone else who  _can._

 

That is the unfortunate case for young Aria, a third-year slumped against the wall opposite of that blasted, talking eagle knocker.

 

"Repeat the question, please," she mumbles weakly.

 

She's probably imagining it, but it looks as though the knocker is pitying her as it opens its beak for the umpteenth time:

 

_If you break me,_

_I do not stop working._

_If you touch me,_

_I may be snared._

_If you lose me,_

_Nothing will matter._

_What am I?_

 

Aria buries her hands in her hair and groans.

 

It's definitely not an alarm clock (heaven knows how many of those she broke). She can't think of anything else, though. What is breakable but still capable of working?  _How does that make any sense!?_

 

Honestly, what was Rowena Ravenclaw—or whoever built this— _thinking_ when deciding the security system for this House!?

 

She hears the patter of little feet and scrambles to her feet. Right from around the corner arrives Flitwick. "Professor Flitwick!"

 

The tiny man jumps a bit at her voice. "Miss Rainforth?" He takes one look at the eagle knocker and his shoulders slump.

 

Aria isn't too worried about the penalty for being out past curfew. Even McGonagall and Snape, two of the most incredibly strict (if not the strictest) professors in Hogwarts, are pretty forgiving when it comes to Ravenclaws being out of their dorms at night, though only if they've been stuck right outside the entrance for some time.

 

Flitwick knocks on the wooden door, and listens as the knocker repeats its riddle. He slaps his hands to his face and drags them down—seems the poor fellow doesn't understand, either.

 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

 

They turn towards the source of the footsteps, backing away from the door as another Ravenclaw trudges up the steps.

 

To be frank, he looks like shit. His brown hair is messy and his gray eyes are duller than storm clouds, while the whites are red. The dark circles under his eyes are darker in the dim lighting, sharply contrasting his pale skin, and the way his brow is furrowed makes it clear he does  _not_ want to be bothered.

 

He steps up to the door and raps his knuckles on the wood.

 

The eagle repeats its riddle once again:

 

_If you break me,_

_I do not stop working._

_If you touch me,_

_I may be snared._

_If you lose me,_

_Nothing will matter._

_What am I?_

 

The boy snorts. "My heart."

 

Aria cringes at his salty tone—

 

_"...Correct...?"_

 

—and watches in mild amazement as the door finally creaks open. (Even the eagle looks startled, though she could be imagining it like before.)

 

She and Flitwick quickly follow the boy inside before the door slammed shut on them. "Um," Aria calls out to the boy, "thanks?"

 

"Yeah..." The brunet flippantly waves back without turning to look at her, instead dragging himself up the stairs to the boys' dorms.

 

Aria slowly turns her head to her Charms professor. "...I'm a little concerned by how quickly he was able to answer that."

 

Flitwick nods in agreement before ushering her to the girls' dorms, bidding her goodnight.

 

Saturday morning greets her with the same boy curled up on a couch near a window, holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate and surrounded by other students. One of the girls suddenly storms out of the common room with sheer fury written all over her face, cursing under her breath.

 

Something about "that vain b—" and Aria doesn't dare finish that sentence.


End file.
